"Why, surely they must have told you that he was badly wounded in the great battle of Vittoria."
"Badly wounded. A great battle. Oh, my son! my son!" and the distressed mother fell back in her chair in a swoon.
At this moment, Dorothy entered with the broth for the invalid. One glance at the death pale face of Mrs. Rushmere told the whole story. She put down the basin and hurried to her assistance.
"Oh, Miss Watling!" she said in a deprecating voice. "See what you have done?"
"And what have I done? told the woman what she ought to have known three weeks ago."
"We had been keeping it from her," said Dorothy, "because she was not strong enough to bear it."
"And pray, Dorothy Chance, if a lady may be permitted to ask the question, what is the matter with her?"
"She is dying," sobbed Dorothy, "of cancer in the back."
"How should I know that? I am not gifted with second sight."
"You know it now," said Dorothy, "and as she is coming to, it would be better for you to leave me to break the whole thing more gently to her."